Resonance: Harmonic Magic Book 3

by P. E. Padilla

  Resonance

  Harmonic Magic Book 3

  P.E. Padilla

  Copyright © 2017 by P. E. Padilla

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Damonza (https://damonza.com/)

  Created with Vellum

  For my brother Marc,

  May your travels to other lands provide you with adventure and happiness.

  Contents

  PEP Talk

  Map of Gythe - Overview

  Map of Gythe - Detail North

  Map of Gythe - Detail South

  Beware…

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Thank you!

  Newsletter

  About the Author

  Also by P.E. Padilla

  Map of Gythe - Detail North

  Map of Gythe - Detail South

  Beware…

  Beware the call of power. It approaches as a thief, a lover, a poisonous serpent, and then it is too late to save oneself from folly.

  Zouyim master Chetra Dal

  Keeping to the Wireh

  Prologue

  Zouyim master Chetra Dal had narrowly escaped death. His fellow monks had not. He was not in the clear yet, though. The creature, some sort of guardian, had found them searching where they did not belong. It hunted him still. Its heavy footfalls shook the stone floor of the passageway, and it sniffed for him with a wheezy inrush of air. Dal was not sure he would survive being found.

  The master monk stopped and drew in a deep breath. He let it out slowly, soundlessly, allowing it to leave his body on its own, not forcing an exhalation. As the breath exited, his body relaxed and his mind cleared. He could not match his hunter in physical combat. His only chance was to outthink the beast. Another deep breath in and another peaceful out-breath, and he was completely calm.

  Dal’s eyes swept his surroundings. The crumbling stone corridor smelled of earth as only a place below ground could. He was not sure of his exact location because of the confusion of the battle and his frantic escape after the monster had killed his three brothers. The creature had destroyed them in so short a time. It should have been impossible for anything to defeat three Zouyim monks so expediently. But he had witnessed it.

  The Zouyim were masters of combat, experts at a martial system that had been developed over hundreds of years. More, though, they were adept at using the rohw, the pervasive vibrational energy that suffused all life and surrounded everything at all times. The monks’ rohw attacks seemed to have bounced off the creature, having no effect at all. How could that be? Nothing should be able to withstand the universal energy like that. The corner of his mind that was always calm was puzzled, and more than a little disturbed at the thought.

  The stomping grew closer. The grunts of the monster’s breathing rang clearly now. Dal would have to formulate a way to defeat his adversary soon, or he would die as quickly as his brothers.

  The corridor held nothing that could be used as a weapon. As the Zouy began running again, looking back over his shoulder, he cut a turn too closely and struck the edge of the wall hard with his shoulder. Pain shot through his arm as if he had been struck by lightning. So hard was the collision that part of a stone block rattled and moved a few inches, bringing a shower of stone dust down on top of him. Though he suppressed a cough, the sound of the collision itself captured his enemy’s attention. It grunted, and the thump of its footfalls grew more rapid.

  The monk sprinted, not bothering to look behind him any longer, only looking ahead. He took three more turns down random corridors before he stopped short. He was in some kind of chamber. It was twenty feet on either side, square, and had one opening. The one he had just come through. There was no escape, with stone blocks surrounding him and the monster quickly coming upon him. He could not see it yet, but he heard it getting closer. It seemed as if his time in this life was done.

  Deriding himself for thinking so despairingly, the Zouyim master snapped his mind back into focus. He went through all his available options and decided on the one that would give him the best chance of surviving. Without another thought, he ran at top speed.

  Back toward the approaching creature.

  He had barely made it out of the chamber when he caught sight of the greenish-brown scaled beast. Its massive bulk filled the corridor. Close to seven feet tall and at least five feet wide, it moved with a fluidity that belied its squat form. Its feet were thick and wedge-shaped, coming to a point at the toe. Dal had seen what that toe had done to Chilk Triss just moments before. The creature had kicked the Zouy and the toe had acted like an ax, splitting the monk almost completely in two. He had died instantly.

  The tree trunk legs of the beast pumped, moving the barrel-shaped body toward Dal. Its arms, each carrying a multi-bladed weapon, readied themselves to strike when it saw the remaining Zouyim monk. A wicked grin split the fang-filled mouth that took up more than half the bestial face. Yellow, gimlet eyes locked onto Dal and glittered.

  Chetra Dal dove past the creature, spinning in mid-air and barely dodging the blows from the weapons aimed at him. He rolled smoothly to his feet and was running again before his adversary had even turned. Its bellows pursued him down the corridor.

  Dal knew he had only moments to live unless he executed his plan perfectly. Glancing quickly toward the beast, he darted through a short corridor and under an archway he had seen moments before. Here was where he would make his stand.

  His senses told him to duck and he did so, feeling the wind of one of the monster’s weapons pass just above his head. The blades, arranged in a pattern much like the boughs on a pine tree along the main shaft of the weapon, whistled as it cut the air. The Zouyim master knew he couldn’t dodge the next blow. He would have to act now.

  Dal separated himself from the material world, sinking deep into his core. He focused on the center of energy just below his navel and drew up all the power he could muster, both from himself and from his surroundings. With a sharp ex
halation, he channeled all the rohw through his hands and struck at the archway with both palms, one over the other, hoping he had acted in time.

  The creature’s other weapon failed to strike Chetra Dal. As soon as the Zouy struck the archway, the massive blocks making the top of the opening began to fall, one of them deflecting the blow that would have ended his life. The world seemed silent and calm for a moment, and then the roar of falling stone surrounded him and the monk dove clear, desperate to escape being trapped himself.

  He landed roughly on his side, pain shooting up through his torso and making his vision narrow at the sides, but then he regained his perception. Peering through the dust filling the air, he let out a sigh of relief. The creature was pinned by tons of rock, only parts of one leg, a shoulder, and its head showing up through the rubble. It wriggled, trying to free its arms, but it was unable to get loose. Its grunts seemed as much from frustration as from anger.

  Chetra Dal knew what he must do. His fellow monks had tried to pierce the creature’s hide with their swords, to no avail. Its skin was too thick to be cut. There was but one thing to be done. He hoped it would be enough. He knew that eventually the beast would free itself, and then nothing would stop it from killing him.

  Dal walked slowly to where his adversary was trapped, eyes scanning the scene for any sign it could actually move to attack. He looked into the creature’s eyes.

  “I am not sure if you understand my language or not,” Chetra Dal said in Ancient Kasmali, a language that had not been spoken in hundreds, if not thousands, of years. By the cessation of its movements and the narrowing of its eyes, it seemed that the monster did understand.

  “I know you are performing your task, your duty. You are to be commended for your commitment. However, I cannot allow you to kill me. I have work still to do in this life. Please know that I respect your task and honor you.” The monk saluted the beast, right fist cradled inside the left hand, both held out in front of his chest as he bowed.

  The Zouyim master breathed deeply for a moment, generating as much energy as he could. His body warmed and his hands began to glow. The creature’s eyes widened at first, and then it relaxed. It let out a huff of air and its sad eyes dropped to the cavern floor. Failure, the Zouyim master thought, was something felt by all intelligent creatures.

  Dal made a few motions with his hands, concentrating his energy even further. Then, with lightning speed, he struck the top of the beast’s head with the open palm of his right hand. The monster’s eyes became unfocused, but still held the light of life. Three more strikes to the same spot, alternating the right and the left hands, did more damage. Finally, the last strike broke through and the monster’s head caved in, its eyes glazed over, and it ceased moving altogether.

  It was done. The monk regretted causing the creature pain, but using his energy to the full could still not kill it in one blow. He had done the best he could.

  Chetra Dal bowed weakly to the corpse once more and looked around. It would take quite a bit of exploring to regain the chamber in which they had first found the creature, but he would persevere for as long as it took. The guardian was obviously left to protect something of great value. Now that it had been defeated, the monk would see what it was.

  Three hours later, Master Chetra Dal found his way back to the small chamber in which the bodies of his fellow monks still rested. Sadness radiated through his body like a winter chill. If only they had thought more quickly, perhaps one or more of his friends would still be alive. There was a lesson there. He would meditate upon it when he returned to the temple, and he would make sure to note it in one of his books of wisdom for the temple disciples. Wisdom was hard-gained, and the honorable man shared it with whomever would accept it.

  Master Dal turned to the end of the chamber, where they had first spotted the guardian. On a simple shelf carved into the stone wall itself, he found a box. He ran his fingers over it, the carvings smooth under his touch. He was not sure what they depicted, whether words or simple designs. It had once been wood but had fossilized. Only three hand spans wide and perhaps two high, it seemed a small thing for the death it had caused. Grasping the cover, the monk opened the lid. As he raised it, there was a hiss of air escaping.

  Within were five scrolls rolled upon wooden cylinders, which also felt as if they had turned to stone. The scrolls were exquisitely made from some natural fiber, but it seemed to be woven of many fine threads, tight and perfect and in the same condition as the day they went into the box.

  The Zouy began to skim the scrolls to get a general sense of what secrets they revealed. They were written in Ancient Kasmali, which made him recall that the guardian had understood him when he spoke that dead language. He was only part-way down the first scroll when his eyes widened and his heart began to beat faster. The scrolls explained an energy, related to the rohw but superior.

  He had never heard of this energy, called awkum, before. He would have to study these scrolls carefully. Perhaps he would be responsible for expanding the Zouyim Order’s understanding of universal energy. He would study them in secret, master the knowledge written there, and then he would share it. Until then, he would not tell anyone about what he had found. He would, most of all, have to make sure it was safe for others. He was a master, with the experience and wisdom to investigate things such as this. If it was safe to use, then others would benefit from what he had learned, but not until then.

  Bowing to his fallen brothers, Chetra Dal put the scrolls into his pack and navigated the twisting corridors to the outside world. He would have much to study when he got back home to the Zouyim temple. Anxious to begin, he forced his weary feet to speed him home.

  Chapter 1

  The bhorgabir assassin Vahi scrutinized Chetra Dal, who had just returned from Iboghan. The old man held in his hands the two artifacts his apprentice Ayim Rasaad had been hunting.

  Chetra Dal spoke. “I am afraid Ayim is no more. She was defeated by those who were hunting her.”

  Dal’s face was wrinkled, but his thick body seemed much younger. He was old, in his late eighties, but he still moved with the grace of someone decades younger. Head swiveling toward Vahi, yellow eyes locking onto the assassin, he held the bell and drum artifacts in his withered, vein-covered hands.

  “I retrieved the artifacts Azgo and Orum, so all is not lost,” the old man said. “We have but to obtain the last artifact, Bruqil, and our success will be complete.”

  Vahi’s large dark eyes met Dal’s yellow. “How did it come about that Rasaad was lost but the artifacts were not?” The acrid odor of torch smoke lingered on the older man’s clothing. That and the sharp tang of blood, along with a dank, wet odor—a scent that made Vahi think of deep tunnels—assaulted the bhor’s acute sense of smell.

  Chetra Dal gave Vahi an account of what happened. He told it without inflection or flair, but as a simple interchange of information. Still, Vahi could picture the scene as the story unfolded. To his keen mind, it was as vivid as if he were there himself.

  They were in Iboghan, in a cavern far below the surface of the land. The chamber in which they fought was littered with stalagmites, and the torch light flickered, causing the scene to have a surreal quality, almost as if not fully solid. While two of the small party opposing Ayim Rasaad held her soldiers at bay in the narrow opening to the cavern, the woman herself fought against Rindu Zose, the Zouyim monk; Nalia Wroun, the Sapsyr; and Sam Sharp, a man from another world who was reported to be the “Hero of Gythe.” Meanwhile, a small furry creature, a hapaki, stood guard over the two artifacts he had pilfered from Rasaad before she could react.

  Rasaad, once a Zouyim monk and briefly one of the Arzbedim, was more now, able to meld her physical fighting abilities with her use of the rohw, the vibrational power all Zouyim used. In addition, she used the awkum Dal had taught her to use, a power in many ways the opposite of the rohw and in many ways more powerful. Her opponents were no match for her.

  Rindu Zose had tried to use his ro
hw to push Rasaad, but his impotent energy attacks merely slid off the shields she had constructed. His defenses were not so potent, however, and Dal’s apprentice lifted Rindu with her power and hurled him across the cavern. Nalia Wroun and Sam Sharp had no more success in hurling their useless energy at Rasaad.

  Chetra Dal, cloaked in shadows of his awkum, watched his apprentice. If the woman could defeat the enemies, then so be it. If not, he would step in and aid her. At the appropriate moment. In the meantime, he would watch and see what unfolded. It seemed to him that Rasaad would handily defeat them. They could not contend with the power that was unfamiliar to her opponents.

  Dal saw Ayim Rasaad gather the power within herself for a final, deadly assault. Soon now, soon. He watched with interest as the three arrayed against her.

  From the side of his vision, he saw a glow. Sam was gathering his own power within himself. Not awkum, but rohw. He had strength, this one, but still not enough to break Rasaad’s shields. He would die along with his two friends.